


The Annual Pendragon-Johnson Hannuchristmas Double Holiday Banquet and Bash XXXV

by Ishti



Category: Aveyond
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, F/F, Holidays, One Big Happy Family, Polyamory, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-09-07 13:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16855009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishti/pseuds/Ishti
Summary: Maybe like two percent plot.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iztopher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iztopher/gifts).



  


Glancing away across the bustling restaurant floor, Mel swiped her thumb over the left side of her chin three swift times. An embarrassed little smile danced its way across her lips. Across from her, “Pirate” John “Dad” Johnson mirrored her gesture with a napkin in his hand, dabbing the Gruyère from just above his goatee.

“Slobs like us shouldn’t be allowed in fondue restaurants, huh?” he joked, his mouth still half-full of apple.

“’Us’?”

“Oh, I forgot to mention; you have, like, an entire head of broccoli in your teeth.”

Mel scowled as she sucked the offending vegetable out of her mouth. “You raised me like this, y’know. You’re twice as culpable.”

John sighed mockingly. “Never responsible for our own actions, are we? Then when’s that pretty little girlfriend of yours gonna polish those rough Johnson edges? I’d love to see her give that a shot.”

“Um…” Mel stabbed a cube of bread and twirled it through the gooey cheese. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”

“Oh, my mistake. The girlfriend who hasn’t had twenty-four whole years to predetermine you as a lost cause.”

“If you weren’t my dad….”

“It’s the only reason I feel safe around you and all of these pointy objects.”

Mel stuffed the bread into her mouth to conceal her grin.

“So… you’re not working today.” John chowed down on a carrot.

“Was that a question?”

“Nah. What time are you heading up to Devin’s?”

Mel rolled her eyes. “I  _ guess _ as soon as we get back to my apartment so I can grab my stuff.”

“And…?”

“Ugh. And get changed.”

“Good.” John grinned. “I bought you something.”

“Oh, no.”

“Come on; I’m the best at gifts!”

“Uh huh. Remember that one year with the dollhouse?”

John swirled his fondue fork in front of his face. “To be fair, there  _ was _ alcohol involved in that investment--”

“How did it catch fire, exactly?”

“Okay, they really should have listed that feature on the box--”

“It  _ was _ on the box.”

“--in English--”

“How did you live in Germany for  _ three years _ and not learn  _ any _ German?”

“Hey, that’s… not really true!”

_ “Mein Vater ist ein Dummkopf.” _

“Your Vater ist buying you lunch.”

“Okay, okay.” Mel snickered. “But that was an easy one.”

Mel and her dad ate in silence for a minute, scouring the last of the slowly-cooling cheese from the depths of the pot while the city sped on beyond the window at Mel’s back. She’d already decided not to work that day; most of her leads had gone cold, so to speak, and she was trying to leave her frustration behind her for a few days. It could only help her to start fresh with refocused energy after committing herself to the festive spirit.

More time with Dad meant more time with herself, anyway.

“Whew.” John patted his stomach. “Packed like a suitcase coming home from Aruba. I’m good to skip dessert today; what do you think?”

Mel nodded. “Yeah, I’m good. Baked Talia two  _ tres leches _ cakes yesterday.”

“Exactly; there’s gonna be plenty of whatever tonight.  _ Tres leches,  _ huh? Where’d you get that recipe?”

“Um…” Mel swallowed. “Jack gave it to me.”

John frowned. “Oh.”

They were silent for another two minutes and fourteen seconds. The waiter came with the check. The silence continued for thirty six seconds. (Mel counted when she was anxious.)

“You could have asked me for her old stuff, y’know, Mels.”

He didn’t look upset. Mel hated that; he could have been offended that she went through Uncle Jack to get Mom’s stuff, but he just looked at her with all the love in the world. Dad loved her when she messed up.

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Don’t worry about it. I bet Uncle Jack has stuff of hers I don’t even know about. I didn’t even know you were looking for her old recipes.” John glanced at the ceiling, then grinned. “Oh! I have a bunch of her books in the attic. Fantasy novels and some mysteries you’d definitely like.”

Mel brightened. “Oh.”

“I’ll ship you a box. Now--let’s get our asses back out into the frozen hellscape in which you voluntarily reside.” John signed the receipt and slipped his card back into his leather Jolly Roger wallet.

“C’mon, dad.” Mel’s voice was muffled as she slung her thick, woollen scarf around her chin. “There are worse places to be than the good ol’ N Y of C.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ST. NICHOLAS DAY, MY LOVELY WONDERFUL SIBSTER! Here's a chapter! Just like Mel, you'll get more soon! Ehehe

John’s gift turned out to be a sharp grey blazer which paired perfectly with the black cocktail dress Mel thought she would never wear. Lydia would lampoon her later for wearing thick stockings with the dress, but it was cold and Mel didn’t care. The purple pocket square and subtle purple lining on the blazer would match Stella’s iridescent hair, she thought, which was plenty fashionable.

“You’re carrying the cakes,” she instructed her father, who looked like he’d lost a few pounds in his new suit.

“Aye aye, cap’n,” he grunted, hoisting the carriers into his arms. Mel needed to make two this year; there were over thirty guests. John took it in stride. “Ahh. You look nice. No jewelry?”

Mel rolled her eyes. “I have a stud in my nose. And two in each of my ears.”

“I meant, like, a necklace.”

“Uh… no?”

“Oh.” John frowned. “Okay.”

Mel raised an eyebrow.

“Is Ulf coming?” asked John, slipping on his shoes.

“Nope.”

“Aw, okay.”

It was a short walk to the C, which they took up to Columbus Circle. The clouds were heavy above them as they trekked the rest of the way to the towering One57 building. The temperature definitely dropped a few degrees over their journey, which normally would have taken a little under an hour but lasted a fair bit longer in all the Christmas Eve hustle and bustle.

Entering the two-story double-door front lobby was always weird for Mel, who stood at a humble five-foot-two. There was still something mesmerizing about the subtle vertical lining in the decor, from the minimalist chandeliers to the metallic walls reflecting golden light. Mel hoisted the bag containing Yvette’s gift further up her shoulder as she and John made for the elevators.

“Hey, Jackie!”

John waved his arm and quickened his stride, and Mel heard an exaggerated groan and a lot of hurried button-clicking from the elevator ahead. “Oh, no.”

“C’mon; hold the elevator! I have cake!”

“Hi, Uncle Jack,” cut in Mel, suppressing a laugh.

With a phony sigh of resignation, Jack stuck his foot in the elevator doorframe for John. “Well, if Mel’s with you…. Hey, Johnny.”

Mel huddled into the elevator next to her uncle, affectionately bumping him on the arm, and John sidled in beside them. “Didn’t drive with Grandmava this year?” asked Mel.

“Nah, she’s with Marge. I actually just got back from Connecticut.”

“Oh, how was Foxwoods?” John grinned.

Jack grinned back. “Well, I’m not saying I’m remodeling the rooftop deck… but I’m gonna need some jacuzzi recs from Rhen.”

“One more party and the whole of New York City is gonna want to rub elbows with this Jack Darkthrop guy.”

“They already want me, baby.”

John and Jack snickered at one another. Mel rolled her eyes. Was it pretty cool that her uncle made a killing in professional gambling? Yes. Was it pretty cool that he and her father spoke like dorky middle-aged men who thought they were frat boys? No.

When they reached the forty-eighth floor, it was obvious that Talia had started cooking in the early, early hours of the morning; never did the kitchen-savvy Pendragon-Maurvas utilize the concierge service of the Park Hyatt. Aromas of herbs and seasonings hit Mel in waves, rendering the cheese fondue of yesterlunch merely so much snackery. Freshly-fried latkes dominated the atmosphere--sweet potato and regular, zucchini, the latter two laden with crispy white onion; just underneath, she smelled the turkey, its rub a classic family recipe. Involuntarily, she moaned a little behind closed lips.

John wandered into the kitchen to plop the cakes down on the counter. Talia, her long red hair in a neat ponytail at the back of her linen apron, abandoned her rubber spatula in a food processor full of liquidized carrots and flung her arms around her nephew-by-proxy.

“John! Welcome back!”

“Hi, Tally. Ooh, carrot pudding this year?”

“Yep! Don’t touch. Is that Mel?” Talia trotted out from behind the counter and gave Mel the Pendragon family squeeze, a skill she’d learned well from Alicia. Mel was overwhelmed now by Talia’s floral scent, and she closed her eyes and smiled.

“How’s the cooking? Need a hand?”

“Never ever,” said Talia, muffled from Mel’s shoulder. “Thanks for the cakes.”

“Mhm. Where’s Uncle Dev?”

“In the bathroom. Don’t worry; you’ll get your bear hug.”

“Mel!”

A bear hug indeed did she get, so satisfactory that, for a split second, she was worried about the package inside her bag being crushed. Fortunately, Devin’s hugs were surprisingly gentle for bearing such strength; he was a lover, not a fighter. Mel didn’t realize until he let go that she’d relaxed all of her muscles in his arms.

“Hi, Uncle Dev.”

“Hey, Mellie. Good to see you.” Devin gave her a warm smile, clapping his wide hands on her shoulders. “You look fantastic! Very sharp.”

Mel smiled back. “Thanks. I like what you’ve done with your beard.”

“Aw, this? I just messed up trimming it on one side, so I… you know how it is.” Devin scratched the back of his head and laughed. “Is that your Pollyanna gift?”

“Yeah.”

“I can take it for you! Go sit down; we have cheese and dips out already.”

Mel relieved her shoulder of its burden and handed it to Devin. “Thanks. Don’t crush the box.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Devin winked as he turned away with Mel’s gift to Yvette in tow.

As instructed, Mel wandered to the living room where a fire blazed in the floating hearth. A painting of Alicia, golden-haired and proud, hung over the hearth, sticking out just a bit among the minimalist decor. Alicia liked to stick out. As customary, Mel threw her a straight-faced wink.

After paying her respects, Mel snatched a celery stick and adorned it with a respectable glob of red pepper hummus. Through the wall of windows before her, she watched the New York skyline glitter against an early night sky. _Crunch, crunch._

Suddenly, the apartment went pitch black as something warm and a little twitchy covered her face. She smiled slowly. “Was there a power outage? Someone call the front desk.”

Stella giggled.

“I wonder who could be responsible for this. Was it Gyendal again? God forbid.”

Stella giggled harder.

“No, I bet it was Uthar. If he went to brunch with the Candars this year, he’s already at least five mimosas in.”

Stella snorted.

“Or maybe… it’s my girlfriend.”

Stella was silent.

“The hot one.”

Mel heard a little _wh_ noise, but Stella pressed her fingers in harder and kept quiet.

“Ooh, was that controversial?” Mel grinned and laced her fingers with Stella’s, lowering their hands to her collar. “Hi, Stels.”

“Hi, babe.” Stella leaned down to rest her chin on Mel’s shoulder and kissed her cheek. They fidgeted with one another’s hands, content to exist in such proximity for a little while. Then, Stella said, “What are you wearing? Can I see?”

Mel laughed. “You really care?”

“Let me see!”

With a shake of her head, Mel stood up. “I’m not twirling for you or anything dumb like that.”

Stella gasped. “Ooh! I like the blazer!”

“Dad got it for me.”

“He’s smart! The tights are a bold choice.”

“Ugh. I’m gonna have to go through all this again with Lydia.” Mel plopped back down onto the couch, feigning annoyance.

Stella walked around the side of the couch to join her. She was wearing a smoky golden embroidered tulle minidress; her bell sleeves tickled Mel's face as she wrapped her arms around her girlfriend. Her hair was tied back in a braided bun, pinned with a golden-and-pearl butterfly. Mel noted the matching heels and earrings; this was likely Lydia's design.

“Hey, it is  _totally normal_ for girlfriends to get into one another’s hobbies,” said Stella.

“Right. Like all that gaming you guys do with me?”

“Hey, I played Overwatch a little! I was Zendaya!”

“No, hon. You were not _‘Zendaya’.”_

“And we go to concerts together sometimes.”

“Our overlap in musical taste is minimal at best.”

“All of us like Lady Gaga!”

“I wouldn’t call that a hobby; more of a deviation from the standard.”

“Then… as soon as I get both of your Scorpionic butts into astrology, we’ll have something.”

“Lydia’s a Leo.”

“Her _moon_ is in--oh, nevermind.”

Mel pressed a carrot stick to Stella’s nose, and Stella promptly ate it out of her hand. She kissed Mel with a smile, and Mel was pretty fond of that.

“Wanna do that for a while?”

“Yes, please.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember this?

“Did Te’ijal bring a baby?”

“Yep.”

“Does it, like, belong to her?”

“One would hope.”

“Where did it… come from?”

“Well, when a youth pastor and an occult archivist love each other very much—“

“Yeah, no, that didn’t happen.”

“Definitely not.”

Mel and Ed peered through the balusters at the offending infant, cradled in Te’ijal’s arms as if it belonged there. Behind them, Stella sighed.

“I want a baby.”

“We know,” muttered Mel.

“Jesus, Stel; how do you walk so _quietly_ in those things?!” gasped Ed, whipping around and eyeing Stella’s four-inch heels.

 _“I_ could hear her from across the foyer.”

“Well, not everyone went to fucking _spy school.”_

“It’s ‘investigative journalism’, you wet French fry.”

“I missed this so much,” tittered Stella with just enough irony that only Mel could pick up the hint.

“Me, too. Let’s get drinks.”

“Do you know its _name?”_ whispered Edward as Mel steered them toward the bar.

“I think her name is Ingrid,” said Stella.

“Who names their kid ‘Ingrid’?” snorted Mel.

“Well… if you adopt a kid, doesn’t it already come with a name?” offered Ed.

“Hmm.”

“I think it’s unique,” Stella decided with a smile. “It suits all three of them.”

“That kid is gonna grow up to be a witch,” murmured Edward.

“Maybe she’ll be a flower witch. Three Long Islands, please, Uncle Jack!”

“Make mine a double.”

Jack sniffed. “That joke gets funnier every year, Groucho Mel.”

Mel hoisted herself onto a high swivel bar stool and popped a candied almond into her mouth. “Just wait til you hear what I have to say about... fruit.”

“I'm your uncle. Save it for that lovely young lady leaning on your knee.”

“Ooh.” Stella gave Mel a peck on the lips. “I can't wait to hear this.”

“Mm. Later, babe.”

In the distance, Mel heard the telltale squeal of another arrival in Talia's kitchen; this one sounded like the Elini squeal, so Mel assumed Sports John, Emma, Rye, and Boyle were somewhere about. It only made sense for Emma and Rye to come in with Emma’s parents, since they lived all the way in Boulder City, Nevada--not technically that far from John, all things considered. (Emma wanted to be close to the UFC headquarters; after all, she _was_ one of the nation's rising female MMA stars.)

Stella nuzzled Mel’s cheek and bounded off to the bathroom. Jack stirred and shook behind the bar as Mel and Edward continued their annual, relaxing tradition of harmless people-watching.

“Hey,” said Edward, swirling his fresh Long Island, “who's that girl sitting with Galahad?”

Mel huffed. “Why are you asking me like I’d know?”

“Well… I don't know… she's your age?”

“Ed.”

“Yeah. I'm your age.”

“You think she's cute, huh?” Mel chewed on her straw through a smirk.

Edward reddened. “Whatever.”

“Go talk to her.”

“You!”

“I'm a terrible wingman.”

“You owe me for ruining my date with that cubist painter sophomore year,” Edward grumbled.

Mel slapped her forehead. “Are you serious?!”

“Yes.”

“Fine. But only so I never owe you anything ever again.”

Mel slid down from her chair, sipping down her drink. With a shake of her hair, she marched from the bar to the couch, deposited herself upon the loveseat across from Galahad, who was enjoying a molten quarter of brie with the ardor of a mortician, and gave him a winning smile.

“Hi, Uncle Gal. Glad you could make it.”

“It is always a pleasure to see you, Melanie,” intoned Galahad, pleasureless.

“Congratulations on, um--”

“Do not mention it.”

“Okay.” Mel took a moment to reinforce her smile. She turned to the woman sitting with Galahad. “I don’t believe we've met.”

“This is Elizabeth Brightsword. She is shadowing me while I am on duty.”

“Uh… are you on duty?”

Galahad ate a very large piece of brie.

Mel stuck out a hand. “Nice to meet you, Elizabeth. I’m Mel Johnson.”

Elizabeth shook Mel’s hand with surprising force. “Nice to meet you, too, Mel. Everyone here has been so welcoming; it's no wonder the captain speaks so highly of your family.”

That settled well in Mel’s chest, but she wasn't about to show it. “So you're new to the police force?”

“No, actually; I'm in line for promotion to captain myself.” Elizabeth chuckled modestly. “I’m shadowing Captain Galahad because I know I’m still pretty young and inexperienced.”

“Oh. Um…” Mel furrowed her brow. “How old _are_ you?”

“Melanie--”

“It's fine, Captain.” Elizabeth laughed. “I’m thirty. I don't mind.”

Mel was sure her eyes widened enough for Ed to see back at the bar. “Oh. No kidding. You look, like, twenty-two.”

“I get that a lot. It's tough to get people to take you seriously in this line of work, so one thing I’m learning from Galahad is how to take control in the office.”

Rapidly boring of their conversation as she was, Mel was glad that the foyer was suddenly flooded with music and the sound of laughter--Aunt Rhen’s, as well as her father’s. She craned her neck to peer over Galahad’s shoulder. Rhen and John stood across from one another in the foyer, on the striped area rug between the wall-mounted stereo and the window overlooking the glittering city. In a dandy display of faux chivalry, John held out his hand to Rhen; Rhen shoved a chair away behind her with a taupe heel and took his hand as if accepting a ballroom dance. From the fringes, Lars, Rye, and Marge whooped and clapped; attention gathered around the edge of the floor as the music whistled on.

_“A man walks down the street, he says_   
_“Why am I soft in the middle now?_   
_“Why am I soft in the middle?  
“The rest of my life is so hard….”_

Mel rested her chin in her hand and smiled. It was hard not to be enraptured by Rhen and John’s dance. She was the most talented dancer in New York City, or at least that’s what everyone said, and anyone with a soul and at least one eye could see as she spun in sync with his step how dearly they loved one another.

The bare space on the floor grew wider and wider as Elini pulled Devin and then Uthar and then Lars onto the floor, and others joined in, grooving to upbeat tunes from the latter decades of the twentieth century. Mel enjoyed watching; she was not a dancer.

Until someone played “Waiting for a Girl Like You”, and Stella grabbed Mel from the loveseat and pulled her into a corner and breathed Long Island into her face and said, “I want to slow dance.”

“I don’t, um.” Mel looked into Stella’s eyes, which were difficult to avoid, and blushed. “Know how?”

“Oh my _god.”_ Stella took Mel’s hands gently and put them just over her hips. “These go here. Mine go on your shoulders. Pretend we’re hugging, except we’re on a boat and the ocean is made of eighties Brit-pop.”

“That was not illuminative.”

Stella wrapped her arms around Mel’s shoulders and began to sway. “Just rock to the beat.”

Her girlfriend’s waist between her hands was both soft and firm to the touch, a feeling she thought she knew well from years of intimacy yet which all at once felt unfamiliar through this dress, in this corner, in this haze of music. Suddenly much too warm for her blazer and far more intoxicated than she’d felt mere seconds before, Mel pulled a little closer and did as she was told.


	4. Chapter 4

The snow fell too fast for the eye to follow, soft and cozy to the onlookers within the high-rise apartment. To her bemusement, Mel found herself watching Ice Age in the guest bedroom while entertaining a well-behaved five-year-old. Myst and Boyle were also there.

“My mom said that you’re my cousin,” said the five-year-old, whose name was Riley. “Are you my cousin?”

“Uh….”  _ Should I, like, explain this one? He’s Rowen’s kid, so he’s pretty smart. _ She did a little mental math, eliminating a few unnecessary steps in the family tree, and arrived at the conclusion that “cousin” wasn’t an especially inaccurate label. “Yeah, sure.”

“Oh.” Riley smiled and sidled closer to Mel so he could lean his head against her arm. “That’s good.”

There was a bubblegum  _ snap _ as June walked in. “What are you cheesin’ about?”

Mel unconsciously raised a hand to her beaming face. “What? Get tired of the grown-ups already, gremlin?”

June flopped onto the bed, still wearing her flaking metallic sandals. “Dad was being cringey AF. My parents are so extra.”

The smartphone was already out and June’s bitten fingers tippity-tapping away, so Mel shrugged and turned to glance at Myst and Boyle, who were still napping in a heap on the other end of the bed. “How’d the StarCraft tournament go?”

“Ugh. I’m straight canceled, bruh.” June slouched. “Fucking Rainbowth came in and owned me in the last qualifier. I’m quitting RTS. MOBAs only in 2019.”

“But you still made bank this year, right?”

June snorted.  _ Tippity tap. _

“You want my job?”

The typing paused. “I’m gucc’.”

“Thought so.”

“You didn’t ask me about high school or whatever.”

“How’s high school or whatever?”

June snickered and resumed typing. “Lit.”

Mel smirked. “Hashtag goals.”

“Oh my god, grandma, stop.”

“We stan a GOAT.”

“I’m Tweeting about you.”

Stella peeked her head around the doorframe. “Hi, June! Mel, Lydia’s here!”

Reflexively, Mel hopped to her feet. She patted Riley on the back, feeling a little guilty, and nodded at June. “Imp, keep an eye on these other imps, would ya?”

“Sure thing, Crypt-Keeper.” June didn’t look up from her phone. “Bring me back some guac!”

Hands laced tight, Mel and Stella plunged their way through the babbling throng toward the kitchen counter, where they found Lydia, wearing a long-sleeved cocktail dress which covered her neck but bared her decolletage, white with an odd black pattern that reminded Mel for some reason of the wild West. Some of her hair was drawn back into two small buns, but a good deal of it, wavy and sleek in the easy light of the apartment, framed her face, falling just past her gently-padded shoulders. Her legs were clad in black pantyhose, and her feet in black ankle boots. Despite her faint resemblance to upholstery, Lydia looked, to Mel, like a treat.

She was gabbing with Nic about some thing or another, each of them cradling champagne flutes and growing infinitesimally louder with each sentence. When Mel caught her eye, she tilted her head and smiled ever so slightly, her eyes narrowing like those of a friendly cat proclaiming her trust.

“Are you wearing  _ stockings _ with that dress?”

Mel rolled her eyes. “Eject her back into the snow.”

“No, you’re right; it’s very cold,” Lydia giggled. “But are those  _ cotton? _ Babe, come on; you can do so much better.”

“Please just let her take you shopping,” pleaded Nic; his eyes said,  _ or else she’ll never shut up about it. _

“It’ll be fun,” whined Stella.

“It’ll be money,” cautioned Mel.

“It’ll be my treat,” purred Lydia.

“Ugh.”

“I think that was a ‘yes’ ugh,” tittered Stella with a grin.

“I hate it when people treat me to things. And I hate shopping for clothes.”

“That’s because you’ve never done it  _ right _ before,” hummed Lydia. Mel sucked her teeth.

“Remember your plaid phase in college?” said Nic.

“What about it?”

“Just be open to the beauty of the unknown, hon. That’s all I’m saying.”

Mel snatched the glass from his hand and emptied its contents down her throat. “Can we stop having gang-up-on-Mel time? I can think of a dozen better things to do at this shindig.”

Lydia grimaced. “We won’t do it if you really don’t want to.”

Turning to look her in the eye, Mel set the champagne flute on the counter and considered for a moment. “You haven’t kissed me yet.”

“Easily fixed.” Lydia leaned in and gave Mel a solid kiss, ducking out with a bump of her nose.

Mel smiled. “I want to.”

Stella giggled, and Lydia rolled her eyes. “Why are you so  _ difficult,” _ grumbled Lydia.

“You signed up for exactly this,” Nic reminded her, a touch of distant irony in his voice.

**“DINNER!”**

Lydia’s shoulders jumped just a centimeter. She raised her chin, as if to say,  _ you can’t startle me this time, Grandmava. _

**“IS!”**

Nic poked Lydia beneath the ribs, resulting in a holler, a half-foot leap, and a light but sincere slap across the cheek.

**“SERVED!”**

Breathless, Lydia’s voice joined the other three dozen cheering as Mel and Stella grabbed her arms and dragged her toward the dining room, inches from being trampled all the way from the counter to her seat.

Barely had Lydia’s pearly fingernails tapped the tablecloth than Talia, Chef John, and Grandmava had enthroned the three centerpiece turkeys between the evergreen-dripping fountains of amaryllis and holly. Rhen, Devin, Yemite, and Phye followed with steaming dishes in each hand, ushering in the scents of sweet potatoes, carrot pudding, asparagus, herb-laden stuffing, wilted greens, fresh-baked bread, and warm applesauce. Dameon came bearing latkes and tostones, and Lars brought out a platter of brisket which must have weighed half as much as he did. Elini threw a twist with trays of roast lamb, aromas of olives mingling with the feast’s traditional rosemary, spices flirting with the thyme. Then, they all went back to the kitchen to grab more food.

Mel and Ed, who had called a truce on their drumstick competition this year in order to set a good example for Riley and June, were shocked to find that Rye had hidden two drumsticks in Emma’s purse and swept the evening. Grandmava presented everyone under the age of thirty with a crisp fifty and a smooch on the forehead, including an utterly bewildered Elizabeth; she thoroughly interrogated Lydia about her experiences at Parsons, and Lydia was happy to drop the names of a couple highly-regarded professors who had commended her work personally. No one could say exactly who initiated the asparagus javelin battle between June and Uthar, but Marge ended it.

Stella sipped her chardonnay and kicked Mel’s foot beneath the table. “We’re lucky, you know.”

“Why?” Mel shoveled a forkful of mashed potatoes into her mouth.

“A lot of kids our age watch their families get smaller each time they get together.” Stella smiled, a little distant. “Ours just keeps growing.”

With over thirty participants in the Pollyanna, the partygoers were sure to have plenty of time to digest prior to dessert. Stella and Lydia claimed the recliner on the edge of the room, and Mel sat cross-legged on the floor beneath them, allowing Lydia to experiment with her hair. Rhen distributed the gifts from the center of the room. Yvette was delighted by the eclectic variety of clothing Mel had hand-thrifted just for her, the flowy fabrics and bright prints speaking directly to her sense of style. She immediately demanded Mel go shopping with her when the weather became clement. Mel bit her lips and smiled silently.

Grandmava’s gift to Marge was a budget to remodel the bar’s patio; Marge was thrilled for the opportunity to update the obsolete deck to something more “fashionable”. John gave Yemite a spa gift basket, complete with a pre-paid spa day for two, which Mel found impersonal but Yemite found  _ delightful; _ Mel wondered whether Phye would be her plus one on this adventure and found the mental image too funny not to snicker. Dameon’s gift to Iya was a collaboration with Ean; together, they created a collage-painting comprised of newspaper, magazine, and poster clippings featuring the celebrated composer “Jökla Drottning”.

June was Mel’s giftee. The box she received was massive; Riley had to help her tear off all the paper. Inside, she found a carefully-packaged slew of high-end computer parts--everything from a motherboard to a series of fans to two high-definition monitors, all of it with a little gaming-rig flair. She squinted at the fans; yep, those were definitely the rainbow light-up kind. Hey, her computer wouldn’t crash when she tried to run iTunes anymore… plus a little MOBA moonlighting wouldn’t hurt anyone.

Lars told Stella to cancel her New Year’s Eve plans (which was fine, because she didn’t really have any) and take her girlfriends on a cruise around the New York Harbor. Rowen practically tripped over herself in her excitement to give Lydia her gift--an automated sewing machine she had engineered herself to take remote, digital commands, conform to the curves of the garment, and work with maximum efficiency even while the designer was away. Lydia looked skeptical at first, but once Rowen swept in close and began to describe the rigorous load testing the system underwent, Lydia’s dubiety fell away.

Dessert was fetched with little pomp. The tres leches cake was gone within minutes of being served. So was Jack.

When Mel got up to pee for the tenth time that night  _ (damn Long Islands), _ she found him in the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat in the dark. Her brow furrowed. She knocked on the doorframe softly and said, “You good?”

Jack inhaled sharply and looked up. Sheepish, he rose to his feet. “Yep, sorry. All yours.”

Mel blocked the doorway. “Hang on. What’s up?”

With a sigh, Jack turned on the light. His eyes were just a little red. “It’s been a long time since I’ve tasted that.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Mels. It’s not your fault.”

“I know.” Mel reached out to rub Jack’s shoulder. “It’s still hard for you.”

“You’re not trying to be her.”

“She’s… still going to show up sometimes. In all sorts of places.”

Jack smiled. “Yeah. I gotta just take it in stride. Your dad’s good at that.”

Mel smiled back, shaking her head. “My dad’s stride is pretty long.”

“So is his daughter’s.”

For a moment, they regarded one another fondly. Jack had always seemed so youthful to Mel, almost as if he were a cousin, not an uncle the age of the other dozen in his generation; suddenly she saw the lines in his face, the cliched curvature of a man who’d been kicked around at least as long as she’d been alive. She hugged him, pressing her head into his chest.

After a minute, she said, “Please move so I can pee.”

“You’re the one in the doorway, fool.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS IN JULY fuck

_ THUNK. _

Mel started to and looked around wildly for whatever had just fallen from the bed somewhere by her ear. There was nothing on the plush white rug beside her, even wedged beside the cocoa nightstand. Willing her heartbeat to slow, she turned over beneath the covers and peered through groggy eyes between the headboards. She could see nothing.

It was probably under the bed. Mel whined quietly and slipped from her cozy sanctuary into the chilly morning guest room, leaving a gently snoring Stella behind. She lowered herself to her hands and knees and, with the grace of a lumbering two-toed sloth, rooted her nose around the underside of the bed. Squinting, she made out an unusual shape. As she reached out to grab the errant object, her head lurched forward and smacked into the bedframe.

“Owww!”

Mel groaned dramatically as she withdrew the object from its unintentional hiding place. Her chin quivered a little; oh, she was still very, very sleepy. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her head, and examined what she held in her hand.

_ Ah. My shoe. _

The customary citrus fruit was still wedged inside very tightly, having not even attempted an escape during the shoe’s journey from the pillow to the floor. Mel didn’t remove it right away, instead scratching idly at the peel with her thumbnail, chasing down a somber thought that she couldn’t quite put to language.

A soft pair of arms slowly wormed around Mel’s upright waist, and a chest snuggled against her back from below. A tiny kiss alit upon her ribcage. “Mrr-mrr,” mumbled Stella.

“Morning,” replied Mel.

“Bahh sss-p.”

“Yeah, go back to sleep.”

Stella nodded.

It was a little unusual that this shoe was so  _ empty. _ Normally, it would be full of treats and coins and trinkets. With a little applied dexterity, Mel managed to squeeze the clementine out from the toe of the flat. It popped out into her other hand, revealing a nearly-empty shoe. She peered inside, holding it up to the light and tilting it down til the contents slid towards her face.

There were two things inside the shoe. The first was a note.

_ “Mel; _

_ I hate to start off a Christmas note by saying ‘I’m sorry’, but: I’m sorry things got a little weird between us. I figured out why. I sent you something for Saint Nick’s Day, and it ended up lost in the mail. It’s a Christmas miracle I managed to find it as quickly as I did once I realized you never got it. _

_ The thing is, I figured you’d write me about it, ask questions about it, maybe we’d have a heart to heart, and when you never did, I got pretty bummed out. I know now that it was a complete miscommunication, but it made me realize I was a little scared of something. I was scared that we’re growing apart; that you’re growing up. But you know what? Even if you are, there are some wonderful things about growing. I want that for you. _

_ Wow, Rhen’s Jewish mom thing is really rubbing off on me, huh? You never call, you never write, I could be dead and you’d never know. Have you been eating? _

_ I love you, Viti to Timbuktu.” _

It was certainly some sort of miracle that he always managed to make her cry.

Mel tipped the shoe and shook its remaining contents into her palm. A gold necklace fell into her palm. Along the length of its chain ran four small stone spheres; one nephrite, one blue lace agate, one yellow calcite, and one dumortierite. Between the agate and the calcite hung a small oval pendant, at first glance almost like those souvenir coins Mel used to make John press at the zoo, but uniform, a little thicker, with a smooth, rounded edge. Mel peered a little closer. On the front side was engraved a tower, like some sort of old stone keep, ensconced in a glove of ivy. It was puzzling, exciting, and a little comforting all at once. She flipped the pendant over in her palm. On the back side was engraved only the letter “D”.

Mel smiled faintly and brushed a tremorous thumb over the pendant. She stared at it for a long minute, her elbow resting on her knee, thinking she should do something now but not sure what that something was. Eventually, she decided the thing to do was to roll each of the tiny orbs in place, still sitting, her brain failing to start. The calcite stuck a little.

Finally, she had a thought, and that thought was  _ he didn’t give me a box to carry this home in, _ so she unclasped the necklace and, with unsteady fingers, hooked it back together behind her neck.

Mel glanced at the mirror on the other side of the room, unwilling to relocate the snoring girlfriend from around her waist. Oh, she looked a little ridiculous wearing an inside-out black tee shirt and an extremely valuable piece of heirloom jewelry. She probably should have anticipated that. But… looking in the mirror gave Mel pause for a moment. She’d always known she looked far more like her light-skinned Latina mom than her “Blindian” dad, but she’d never given the comparison much thought, and now, suddenly--suddenly, she felt like a Darkthrop adopted by Johnsons.

And then the feeling was gone. Pirate John was her dad. He was her day one and her year twenty-five. He was her laugh and her small teeth, her cloverleaf tongue and her avocado allergy, and even if he wasn’t any of those things, he’d still be Dad, and she’d still be a Johnson.

Stella twitched, smushing her nose against Mel’s spine. “Mmmf.”

Mel twisted at the waist and mussed Stella’s lilac explosion of hair. “Wake up or you’ll hurt yourself. Don’t you want to help Chef John finish breakfast?”

Stella rolled onto her back and smiled contentedly, her eyes narrowed by happy cheeks. “Okay. I smell frittata.”

“Better go get it before it’s all gone.”

Tumbling out of bed, Stella stretched from her toes to her fingertips. Mel was always amazed by how gorgeous this girl was, all curves and soft, shining skin, even her clumsiest, silliest movements imbued with blushing grace. Stella, blessed with starlight. She shook out her tangled hair and looked back at Mel with curiosity. “That’s a beautiful necklace.”

“Thanks.” Mel grinned, her hand brushing the stones by her collarbone. “You’re a beautiful lass.”


End file.
